


twenty-three bouquets of lilies on the wall, twenty-three bouquets of lilies; if one of those bouquets should happen to fall, twenty-two bouquets of lilies on the wall

by Silverinia



Category: The Good Fight (TV), The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Love, Post-Trauma, Protective Kurt, lilies add-on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19476526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverinia/pseuds/Silverinia
Summary: Small, post-AU add-on-chapter thingy for the Lilies universe.





	twenty-three bouquets of lilies on the wall, twenty-three bouquets of lilies; if one of those bouquets should happen to fall, twenty-two bouquets of lilies on the wall

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this needs a trigger-warning. It's really not that bad.
> 
> Someone on tumblr requested protective Kurt and I've had this idea ever since I've been midway through with Lilies and Gunpowder, I just didn't want to make a whole sequel out of it, because I decided that they had already suffered enough in this universe.
> 
> Little disclaimer: this probably doesn't make much sense if you haven't read the 48-chapter AU this is referenced to. So... read that first. Or don't and leave it be, that's really your call.
> 
> It was a joy in the past couple of days to dive back into this universe. I hope you all feel the same way when you read it, and I hope I didn't screw it up or something.
> 
> Enjoy 😘

When the sharp clunk of her purse colliding with the wooden floor echoed through the house, the thought of that its golden metal zipper might have scratched the surface of the flawlessly polished wood didn’t cross her mind. She hardly even registered the sound or that of the bang of the front door swinging into the lock, couldn’t even get herself to take her coat and heels off before she was already storming through the hallway, the sounds of her quick, harsh steps softly dimmed by the carpet between her red shoe soles and the floor. It was as if her senses were shutting it all out, pressing their eyes closed because of the blindingly bright light of anger and hurt that were boring into her chest and made it ache while it was heaving up and down in the quick pace of the continuously sharp inhales and exhales of her breathing.

She passed the beautiful bouquet of yellow roses and white calla lilies that was illuminated by the soft light that shone into the room from the kitchen and washed the hallway in a warm tone of yellow; she’d put it into a decadent crystal vase and placed it on the cupboard in the entrance hall of their house after he’d given her the flowers for their third wedding anniversary five days prior. They had been a reference that she had not expected him to make to the floral theme they—or rather her—had chosen back then for their wedding day, so the surprise she’d felt over it had been all the more pleasant, had filled her heart with tender joy and amounts of love for him that she couldn’t have dreamed upon, only to now, just a couple of days later, sit on the cupboard and catch her side gaze in a mocking, almost hurtful manner.

It had seemed so thoughtful, up until a couple of hours ago. She’d smiled at the sight of the bouquet just this morning before leaving for work. Now it only seemed like a remedy for the bad conscience he already must’ve had when he’d picked them up from the florist.

It was almost unbelievable, the fact that she still had not gotten over that things and perspectives could just fundamentally change in the matter of a few hours, sometimes only minutes. It was odd, because she would expect herself to know better than that by now.

“Diane?”, she heard his voice echo through the house from the direction of the kitchen, and she felt her breathing quicken, her heart pulsating even faster in the face of her ever-growing fury.

 _Diane_.

The way he said her name was so painfully filled with contradiction.

Casual somehow, in the normalcy of his tone, as though it were a normal evening, as though everything was alright, like he wasn’t aware of what he’d done. Touching in the velvety way in which his rough, low voice always seemed to mingle in the air and wrap the comfort of its sound around her, like a blanket for the cold, or clothing for the exposed; like it was the carefully created nourishment for every last minor complaint of her soul.

It was as though her name had been picked for her to have, only so that she would be able to hear him say it, to have him refer to her by producing the sound of it in his throat. To feel whole whenever he would call her by her name because it was supposed to be her purpose, her purpose in life to be Diane for him while he would be Kurt for her, because that was the way it had always been meant to be. Being completed by each other, being better together than each could be on their own, because together they would always naturally make the smallest things seem meaningful, place a purpose upon the silliest little things, like being called by one’s name.

She’d never thought that he would ever make it sound this painful.

She’d never thought that he would _choose_ to make it painful for her.

She’d trusted him enough to trust in those beliefs.

Leaving the hallway, she stormed into the kitchen to see him standing in front of the stove, his back turned to her while he was carefully stirring a wooden spoon through a large pan. She hadn’t registered the sizzling sound of whatever he was frying until now.

Her hands fell to her hips and she took him in from behind. His frame looked relaxed, his movements familiar and domestic, natural in a way in which only he ever moved, and her breathing kept on getting faster.

“They didn’t have cabernet sauvignon at the farmer’s market, so I bought merlot instead. Hope that’s okay for ya, but… I mean, they’re both dry and red and honestly, I think they practically taste the same.”, he said, shrugging before he turned his head aside to try and catch her eye when she didn’t answer. His warm smile disappeared and was soon replaced by a rather wrinkly frown on his forehead. “What’s wrong—”

“How could you!”, she hissed sharply, her blue eyes narrowed while they watched him grabbing a plaid kitchen towel from the countertop beside him to rub it over his hands while he turned and slowly stepped around the kitchen isle towards her.

His eyes never left her when he carelessly tossed the towel on the isle, the look of confusion and innocence in her favorite shade of green never changed when his cautious steps came to a halt and he raised his hands almost defensively. It only fueled the pain in her chest, this look of honesty and cluelessness in his expression when he had to know exactly what this was about. And the growing pain that dug deeper and deeper into her heart and spread through her veins to inflame her entire body only increased the fury she felt.

“Di, I… what?”

He was standing close to her; too close. Only inches between the pointed tips of her black heels and his bare feet. She could smell his scent too vividly from where they were standing. It had already hit her when she’d entered the house seconds ago, but this was different. Houses smelled of shallow memories and the faint trace of the people who lived or had lived there, but people truthfully and authentically smelled of people, of scents made of things that reminded others of them and another layer of something that no one really could describe. Kurt never used cologne, was a man’s man who would rather risk a rash on his cheeks before he would use the aftershave she would always buy him nevertheless, because she cared more for his skin than he did himself. In the mornings, he would smell of his shower gel and when he came home from work there would be that trace of gunpowder that she would always associate with him, even when he didn’t actually smell of it. But still, he mostly smelled of himself. Of warmth and comfort, of strength and understanding; of rough touches and soft embraces, of the best experiences of all four seasons, the blooming freshness of the woods in spring, the soft breeze and sunshine on a summer day, of the rainy days in fall that they would spend in the house, reading, talking, just being, and of kissing a lover underneath the mistletoe on Christmas. He smelled of off-key singing, of kissing in the rain, of laughs that only he would share with her, of discussions that would never have the power of changing the core of their relationship, of mocking each other in an expression of affection, of tears that she would never let anybody witness except for him.

He smelled of Kurt. He smelled like love.

 _Di_.

It had been a long time since she’d last been drowning in this feeling, since she’d last hated herself for giving him the power to do this to her. To let him rob her of her rationality, to let him cause her so much pain that it became difficult to keep on turning it into anger, because anger was always easier to allow herself to express than hurt. Because showing off hurt demanded deep trust and anger was just a much more superficial way of doing it. Untruthful, yes, but it was easier because it shielded oneself from even more pain.

She only noticed that she was actively pressing her teeth together to keep the masquerade upright when her tensed jaw began to ache. Her glaring gaze at him could have brought a lesser man to his knees and he was still shooting her that look. Confusion, and a trace of concern that was scratching on the surface of his skin, like it was scratching on the surface of her dignity.

“You spoke to Will.”, she said slowly, every syllable of the statement she was throwing into the room in a low voice dripping with fury.

His hands dropped to his sides while his frown disappeared from his face. Slowly, his lips parted beneath his moustache before he broke the tense silence. “I did. But—”

“No but!”, she interrupted him harshly, her fingertips digging deeper into her hips while her voice rose. “How dare you! How fucking dare you!”

“Di, calm down.”, he said softly and reached out to touch her arm, but she slapped his hand away.

“No, I won’t!”, she yelled over the sizzling sound of the frying pan. “This is _my_ case, _my_ client, and you don’t get to interfere with that!”

“Diane!”, he exclaimed and took another step closer to her, lifting one hand between them again like this would magically have the power to calm her down. “I had to do something.”

Her crimson red lips parted and one of her eyebrows arched up, but before she could have said something, he shook his head and continued.

“I tried to talk to you, and you wouldn’t listen, so I—”

“… asked my partner to convince me to drop my case?”, she interrupted him and shot him a dark smirk. Every breath she took sent a new wave of pain through her chest, inhaling his scent, breathing the same air as he did.

Kurt looked at her for a short moment. Silently, while a momentary flash of bad conscience rushed through his green eyes. Guilt looked so deeply misplaced in the green, like a contradiction to the fundament of honesty in his nature.

“Yes.” His voice was steady, and his fingers rose further up to scratch the patch of skin behind his ear.

She folded her arms slowly beneath her chest while she huffed out a scoff, her head shaking and her tongue running over her quivering bottom lip. “We have an agreement, Kurt.” Her bright, glazed eyes locked with his when she began to speak in a high, shaky voice. “We wanted to draw the line between us and work. That’s what we said. That’s our agreement. And we came up with it _together_.” Swallowing, she shook her head again and let her teeth sink into her tongue when she saw the look in his eyes. His hurt over the pained frown in the arch of her brows, over the visible tears she was keeping herself from shedding over the betrayal she felt stabbing through her heart.

“Di, I…”, he began lowly and stopped. His hand dropped to his side again and he stepped a little closer, his toes now almost touching the tips of her shoes, the closeness spurring on her craving for a strong drink. Her head was pounding. She felt dizzy.

“What?”, she asked, anger, hurt and urge meeting in her eyes. A pleading look that was asking him to have an explanation that would make the pain stop, that would wash the betrayal out of the air in this house. An explanation that would make it all okay again. “You what?”

His gaze shortly fell to their feet, the back of his fingers rubbed over his nose as she watched him, blinking furiously while he was looking away to get rid of the stupid tears she didn’t want him to see.

He took a deep and audible breath before he looked at her again. “The prosecution asked me to look into it.”, he said calmly.

Diane’s eyes narrowed, flying over his face to find the source, the reason for why this didn’t sound like an honest explanation. “You…”, she began, the confusion in her look audible in her voice. “Kurt, you’ve testified against me before. And why the hell am I the one who has to give up on a case just so you can testify with a clean consc—”

“I won’t testify.”

“Then what is your fucking problem?”, she yelled, and he swallowed.

The look in his eyes softened and one of his brows furrowed, his look once again making her the bad guy in this and she hated herself for feeling like it was the truth.

“He’s dangerous.” His voice was low, close to a whisper and Diane rolled her eyes.

“I’ve represented guilty people before. It’s part of the job—”

“No, it’s not that.” It looked like he was holding his breath before he looked away and released it in a ragged huff. His eyes were dark when he looked at her again, dark from fear, from worry, she didn’t know. She only knew that the sight of it hurt. “His former lawyer… she abandoned the case because she was threatened a couple of weeks ago, after something in witness prep didn’t go too well.”

Diane’s lips parted but she remained silent. When his fingers brushed against her arm, she dropped her hands to her sides and let him wrap his around the thick fabric of the sleeves of her coat.

“I read it in the police file. It’s confidential, so I didn’t think you’d know.”

Her eyes fell closed and she shook her head. The blue was almost watery again when she revealed it to him. “What kinds of threats?”, she whispered.

“He seems to have his network on the streets. Her kids were molested by a group of men after school.”

Her chest rose slowly and suddenly fell in the pace of the deep breath she took. “You should have told me.”, she said, a bitter aftertaste in the sound of her low voice that he didn’t miss.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her upper arms, the movement sending a feeling of hurtful comfort over her that she tried to shake off as she did the same with his hands, before she took a step away from him. The need of distance from him that had settled deep within her ever since she’d spoken to Will before she’d left the office tonight. Distance from the person she still wanted to be the closest, paining her in the power her feelings for him had over her.

“This wasn’t your choice to make.”, she said, the determination in her words the biggest lie she’d ever told when her lungs were practically gasping for air as they kept on breathing in the thick, warm and tensed atmosphere around them. She was hot beneath her coat, her breathing affected by the sight of him. By the helpless look on his face that both, made her want to give in and forgive and kept on spurring on the hurt, and with it, her anger.

“Diane…”, he began with an almost searching look in his eyes as they tried to find a way in. He didn’t know that he was already in, he didn’t know how much it hurt that she couldn’t even shut him out anymore when he deserved it. “I tried to talk to you.”

Diane’s lips parted in a silent wave of laughter, a small scoff escaping her as her jaw tensed in the movement. “Oh, did you now? No, you didn’t even have the decency of being honest with me. Instead, you just went behind my back because it was easier for you to do.”

The high-pitched sound of her loud voice cracked a little. An outsider wouldn’t have noticed the split second of the involuntary display of her hurt. But he was no outsider, was as far on the inside as anyone could be, knew her better than he knew himself; on the inside as much as the outside, loved her with all that he had.

The corner of his lips twitched aside beneath his moustache at the sound. “Di, that’s not what happened.”, he said softly, suppressing the urge to get closer to her. The pained look of anger on her face, the way her glistening, blue eyes reflected the warm light in the room; he knew that she was trying not to let the tears escape her, knew that behind that masquerade of fury, she was hiding the fragility that was threatening to ebb to the surface right now.

Too many memories, too many overcome emotions were pushing into this situation, ones that she didn’t want to deal with right now because she’d worked so hard for them to let her go all those years ago.

He wanted to hold her. To let her know that he understood, that it was alright for her to feel. That he would protect her from falling down the spiral again, but that it was necessary for her to let it be, just for now.

He wanted to hold her. But he knew that she wouldn’t let him.

She sniffed quietly, hastily brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip, before she dropped her hand to her side, shaking her head while her fingers lightly brushed over her right abdomen. She probably didn’t even notice that she was doing it. It must have been an intuitive movement.

“This is my career. This is my client. And it’s my choice to keep them if I want to.” She swallowed in an unsuccessful attempt of clearing her throat. “I’m going to bed.”

She tried to walk past him, but he took a firm step aside to keep her from doing so.

“Di, please.”, he stuttered while he watched the look in her watery eyes shifting to anger again. “Please think about this.”

The tip of her tongue danced over her bottom lip and he thought he could see the look on her face changing, but then—

“Get out of my way, Kurt.”, she whispered, her exhaustion audible in the low rasp of her voice.

They stared at each other for a silent second while he refused to move, until Diane sighed, stepped around him and walked into the direction of the hallway with unsteady legs.

“Diane.”, he called after her as he spun around and something in his voice sounded so frail, so deeply misplaced in the familiar sound that her feet stopped moving against all better judgement.

“I… I’m scared.”

She was standing so close to the doorway that she could see the bouquet of lilies and roses on the side cupboard in the hallway near the front door. It was as if her gaze was magnetized to it, even though she was willing herself to look away because it was too painful.

Her front teeth scraped over her lower lip and she swallowed, her voice low when she spoke into the empty room. “He’s young. He made a mistake but he’s not dangerous.”

“He shot two people during a robbery.”

She’d forgotten to water the flowers in the morning. Even in the dimmed light, she could see their need of water.

Her throat felt dry. “He was scared. He’s just twenty-two, barely even an adult, and he got scared. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

She didn’t even know anymore if she was talking to him or trying to convince herself of this. The fingers of her left hand had snuck into her coat and were now brushing over the silk of her blouse that was covering her abdomen. She hadn’t noticed it until now.

“And how old was Spellman at the time of his trial?”

It was silent. He could have slapped himself the second the words had left his throat. She didn’t move, not by an inch and Kurt was just about to approach her from behind to apologize, when the smoke detector went off, the shrill beeping echoing loudly through the house.

“Christ.”, he muttered under his breath, grabbed the plaid kitchen towel from the isle and rushed over to the stove to take the pan off it, his other hand banging the towel on the small flames in it until they disappeared. He put the pan in the sink so it could cool down before he shut down the detector on the wall above the stove. So much for the romantic dinner he’d had planned.

When he spun around, his eyes searching for his wife, he’d expected her to be gone, to have seized the moment of distraction to leave the kitchen and head upstairs to their bedroom. But she was still right there, where his eyes had left her, standing still, facing the hallway.

A single tear that she could not hold back for any longer rolled down her cheek as the edges of her front teeth dug deeper and deeper into the flesh of her lip, until she could taste the iron taste of her own blood on her tongue, a taste that awoke the urge to vomit inside of her. Her fingertips took on a shade of rosy white beneath her coat as they grabbed the silk of her blouse, small half-moon shaped imprints of her nails forming beneath it on her skin, along the light brown scar that would never completely fade away again.

The bouquet of flowers was still standing in the beautiful crystal vase that was lacking enough water. They were just standing there when, in a better world, they should have crashed to the floor next to her leather purse, when the crystal vase should have burst into countless pieces in a personification of destruction.

But they were simply standing there, hadn’t made a single, freeing move. Just as she did.

Her teeth let her quivering bottom lip loose in a soundless gasp when she felt him wrap his arms around her waist from behind, his left hand wandering gently over her arm in his search for any sign of discomfort beneath his touch, until it settled on the back of hers when he couldn’t find one, stilling the movement of her fingers as his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”, he whispered, his dear voice easily forcing another tear to roll down her cheek. “Diane, I’m so sorry.”

She pressed a shaky exhale out of her lungs and let her eyes fall closed, shutting out the sight of the beautiful floral bouquet in the hallway. “Twenty-three.”, she whispered back, lifting her right hand to hold onto his forearm, spreading the fingers of the other one apart so he could entwine his warm digits with them.

“What?”, he asked softly, and she took another deep breath.

“He was twenty-three during his trial. Almost twenty-four when he was convicted.”

The weight of his chin on her shoulder disappeared before he pressed a kiss on her temple. “I’m sorry.”, he mumbled against her skin. “I shouldn’t have… that was way out of line. Talking to Will and… what I said.”

He wasn’t comfortable with words. And knowing that, she let him place another kiss on her skin before her fingers slipped out beneath his and she turned in his arms to look at him. One of her hands rose to cup his stubbly cheek, the other one wrapped around his upper arm.

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to bring this up again. But I’m… I’m just so scared.”

“Then talk to me about it. Kurt, you don’t need to save me. You said so yourself, remember?”, she said softly as she looked into his tired, green eyes. He was a good man, too good sometimes for his own sake. So good that it could keep him up all night, so good that he dove head over heels into mistakes he was technically smart enough to avoid.

His lips twitched in an attempt of forming a smile while her thumb brushed over his rough skin. “I do.”, he said, his shoulders moving in a shrug. “Because you don’t need to be saved. But… that doesn’t mean that I don’t have to protect you.”

Her brows arched together in a frown. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to protect me.”, she said softly, and he shook his head.

“No, I do. I mean… I love you.” His hand left her waist and curled around hers above his cheek to pull her palm to his lips. “Di, I love you. I need you safe.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

A look of disappointment momentarily rushed through his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

“Will you help me?”, she asked, and he squeezed her hand, huffing out a breath of amusement.

“You don’t need my help.”, he said, and she smiled.

“Yes, but I want to hear what you think. And I don’t want to have to drink all that merlot by myself, which, by the way, tastes nothing like cabernet sauvignon.”

His lips stretched in a grin that made her heart flutter inside her chest. “Wanna order Chinese?”

“Takeout and wine? Yes, please. And don’t forget the spring rolls.”

Kurt shook his head and leaned in to press a soft kiss on her lips. “Never.”

They would share greasy Chinese food and drink too much wine tonight. She would mock him about the smoke detector, seize the one opportunity to pay him back for all the times they’d spent playfully bickering about her bad cooking skills. He would mock her about forgetting to water the flowers in the hallway.

And they would talk, until they’d find a solution that would let both of them rest.

Above all, there was a comfort in knowing that someone cared so much that they would risk a fight over it. A comfort in knowing that making mistakes didn’t have the power to destroy what they’d built together.

There was a comfort in knowing that someone would let her forget about the scar on her abdomen for the rest of the night and make her feel whole again.

The comfort in loving and being loved.


End file.
